


mirror my malady (transfer my tragedy)

by opheliahyde



Category: From Dusk Till Dawn: The Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Canon-Typical Violence, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-13
Updated: 2017-01-13
Packaged: 2018-09-17 08:17:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9313190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/opheliahyde/pseuds/opheliahyde
Summary: During s3:There is more to Manola than meets the eye.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from _Wolf Like Me_ by TV on the Radio .

Manola smells different—warmer, sharper, more wild; her scent still throwing out into the air around her, crackling and electric, sweating as she pants, catching Kisa around the waist, somehow holding both of them up until they sink to the ground. Manola tugs back her jacket collar, pulls back her t-shirt, tilting up her chin and the smell feels thick, choking at the back of Kisa’s throat as she stares at the pulse thudding under Manola’s skin under the yellow streetlight.

“Go on,” Manola tells her, voice deep and smooth coaxing as he fingers dig into Kisa’s ribs. “I know what you are and you’re injured—I can smell it. Come on, it’s okay.”

(Kisa hadn’t know culebras to fight with knives, not when stalking prey, but she hadn’t known them to attack defenseless girls, one to five, either—maybe defenseless was the wrong word to describe Manola after watching her hold her own for a few moments until she became overwhelmed, Kisa jumping in on instinct and getting a knife to the gut, under her ribs before three were dead and the other two scattered; healing was slow and Manola was warm)

“My name is Kisa,” she tells her, still getting used to the name on her tongue, still getting used to it on her skin; she shivers when Manola grins up at her, all teeth.

“We can make introductions later, sweetheart,” Manola says, reaching up and tugging her in by the back of the neck, her thumb stroking Kisa’s jaw until her fangs drop, quick and easy. “We shouldn’t stick around here for long.”

Manola’s blood tastes just as strong, it _bites_ at the back of her throat when Kisa sinks her teeth in, trying to be careful, sliding in slow and gentle. Manola’s memories awash with colors, shapes, and scents, perspective altered and strange, instinctual mixed in with snapshots of her mother, her little sister back home, the memory of teeth tearing it all to pieces, waking up alone, sterile hospital scent invading her nose as she pulls off. Kisa presses her fingers over the wounds as she tears at her shirt, placing the cloth there as she whispers _thank you_ in Manola’s ear.

 

 

“You know, our kind don’t usually mix,” Manola tells her, chin resting on her shoulder, weeks, months later—she’s lost track, something comforting about Manola at her side, warm in her bed, pressed skin to skin rolling closer, something that makes her forget and lets herself be; no more plotting, no more running. “Something about bad blood, history nobody will fucking tell me–you know anything about that?”

Kisa wants to tell her nobody’s her kind, but that’s not exactly true, remembering the shrines she visited, kept to the back, observed as the whispered her name in hushed tones, an ache growing in her chest as her guts twisted to knots, tears welling up in her eyes; she doesn’t visit anymore, not since Manola, not since what they’ve begun building, the two of them. 

“You’re a _nagual_ ,” she tells her, mouth twisting as Manola gives her a wry grin, lifting her head, looking up at Kisa with wide dark eyes, shining like a child’s looking for a story. “Back when the lords were enslaved in Xibalba, the naguals were the dogs of their masters—it doesn’t breed kindness when there’s still culebras that remember what it was like to watch their people get torn to shreds by that naguals’ teeth.”

Manola blinks, slow as her teeth worry at her bottom lip, her fingers warm, skating across Kisa’s collarbone, tracing the small scar there, the one her teeth left. “I see now.”

Kisa rolls toward her, stroking back the strands of her hair, combing her fingers through the ends. “We were both slaves, as far as I’m concerned. The naguals weren’t—”

Manola kisses her silent, tongue sliding against hers as Manola’s hands come up around her face, holding her close for a moment, then breaking away. “Thank you for telling me.”

 

 

During fights, Manola stands to her right, back straight and eyes alert, but her fingers are soft, running up and down Kisa’s arm when the lights are low. It’s their own little slice of paradise, a room full of humans, culebras, and naguals, living and breathing alongside each other. Kisa glances askance, casting her eyes up as the lights come back on, smiling at Manola when their eyes catch.

“Thank you,” she says, for nothing in particular.

 

 

When Seth and Richard arrive, side-by-side, moving in sync, Kisa can smell the change in Seth’s blood, picks it up like something familiar and practiced, but Manola is quicker, shoulders raised, body tense, her eyes flashing golden.

Seth’s eyes flash back, mouth twisted into a grin, teeth bared.

“Well, well, well,” Richard says, eyes flicking to hers, staring at her like he can see into her mind and not the other way around—it makes her skin itch.

She lays a hands on Manola’s shoulder, holding her back, telling her to relax with a squeeze. “What do you want?” she asks, glancing at Seth as he falls back, his eyes still gold.

“Well, princess,” Seth starts, holding her gaze with his new eyes. “We were hoping you could give us a hand.”

**Author's Note:**

> come say hi to me on [tumblr](http://richiesseth.tumblr.com)!


End file.
